


day off

by tinyduck



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love them, M/M, Other, Romantic Tension, cute dates are just ughhHHH, friends to lovers? kinda?, gender neutral reader, handholding is actually the best and you can't change my mind, kind of first datey, one high school kid uses the word 'pussy' as an insult, pre-ffxv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyduck/pseuds/tinyduck
Summary: “Noct, your outfit right now feels like the modern-day equivalent of a Victorian woman flashing her ankle. What’re you trying to do, get everybody hot and heavy over two inches of calf-muscle?”Whatever reaction you’re expecting, it isn’t for a slow smile to spread across his face. “Is it working?”
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	day off

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be a warm-up exercise, spawned by a 3am thought and wanting to go on a cute-ass date and now here I am, quarantined, foaming at the mouth as I think about Noctis Lucis Caelum. He might be a little OOC because this is my first time writing this boy in a moment when he's not, you know, shouldering the world and all its emotions, but let me repeat for you once again, STILL foaming at the mouth:
> 
> NOCTIS. LUCIS. CAELUM.

For all intents and purposes, today is normal. Average, even. You’re relishing the sun streaming through your bedrooms window, absentmindedly bobbing your head along with the music pumping through your headphones. Outside it’s a beautiful cloudless day, the faint trill of birdsong winding through the flowering trees branches. It’s tempting, this tranquility, and it’s why you’re only allowing yourself the indulgence of an open window instead of venturing outside. The careful chaos of your desk is a sight to behold, but you barely even bat an eye as you shuffle through a stack of notebooks. It’s finals season, and you don’t have time to frolic through the spring streets of Insomnia, kicking your way through puddles as you twirl in whatever lingering, longing daydream you’re harbouring about the weather.

That’s all promptly dashed to bits when there’s a sound like shattering glass, blue lightening flaring up out of the corner of your eye that makes you shriek and throw yourself backward in a graceless flurry of papers, pens, and your desk chair. You manage to right yourself, headphones askew as you slam a hand on your desk to push yourself off the floor, staring accusingly at the sheepish crown prince wedged halfway through your window.

“ _Noct_.”

“How’s it going?” he says in that familiar, husky voice, as if his elbows aren’t in a pile of sticky notes and your leftover snack respectively.

“We have a door for a reason, you know,” you grumble, grabbing the back of his jacket and creasing the well-worn leather under your fingers as you tug and he shimmies. He kicks a few textbooks to the ground when he finally tumbles in, and you bite your lip as you watch the pages fold. 

“Didn’t wanna make a scene.”

You roll your eyes. “Because this is _much_ better.” 

He jerks his head towards your desk, crossing his arms as you pick up your chair and your now sadly crumpled notes. “What’re you up to?”

“Studying.” He doesn’t move as you rearrange your desk, a flustered tingle running up the back of your neck and along the back of your ears as he leans closer to look at whatever you have clutched between your fingers. He smells good, like fresh air and clean laundry – _expensive_ laundry you amend, the notes of cashmere and musk lingering in the background. 

“’S too nice for that. Wanna do something?”

“I have exams next week; I can’t play hooky,” you say with a sigh, sneaking a look at him from the corner of your eye, and almost panicking at the lack of distance between his face and yours. There’s a mischievous glint in his stormy blue-grey eyes, and your own narrow. “How’d you get the day off?” 

“Specs gave it to me,” he says with an easy shrug of his shoulders, and you squint up at him suspiciously, not at all assuaged by the puff of his chest, nor distracted by the sight of his flexing forearms. 

“Ignis? Gave you?” You pause, drawing back slightly. “ _Ignis_ ,” you repeat slowly, deliberately, “gave _you_ …the day _off_?” 

“More or less.”

You groan and shut your eyes, pressing your fingers to them. “You ditched again, didn’t you?” Why’d you come here? I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a pissed off Iggy right now, Noct—”

“Then we’d better go.” 

A whine builds in your throat as you look at him again, finding yourself hard-pressed to _really_ be mad at him as he walks around your room, inspecting the walls like he’s never seen them before. Even the fact that he still has his dirty motorcycle boots on, tracking who knows what into the soft carpet doesn’t phase you when he turns to shoot you a half-smile, half-smirk. He looks like he already knows he’s won, and that fact sends a lick of frustration and heat to your belly. “Can’t you go bother Prompto?” 

It’s a half-hearted rebuttal, but Noctis’s brow furrows all the same, hands sliding into his pockets as he looks at you through his long lashes. “Figured you could use a break. You want me to go?”

“No!” The answer bursts from you before you can stop it, one hand awkwardly outstretched as you curse your body for betraying you, but the smile that flickers at his lips nudges those thoughts away. “No, we can—” You scrunch your nose and look petulantly out the window, tipping your chin up as you try to look unbothered. “Let’s do something. But you gotta do something about that.”

Noctis doesn’t take to you gesturing vaguely at his outfit well at all, brows pinching together again. “What’s wrong with this? I got style.”

You bite back the patient comment that he might be a little too recognizable, even if you make him wear a baclava and a paper bag over his face. The signature skull pattern that has been replicated by too many mid-level clothing brands is not only smattered down the front of his finely toned chest (a thought you quickly abandon with a gulp as you eye the way the soft fabric clings to his abdomen under the pretense of surveying him), but the insignia stamped into the (expensive!) looking leather of his jacket practically screams ‘wealth and power’. Normally it’s a fact you don’t mind. You’re used to him in his pajamas or lounge wear the few times you do get a chance to see him nowadays, a blanket draped like a cape over his shoulders as he flops down between you and Prompto for yet another video game night that extends into the wee hours of the morning. It’s one thing to see him soft and welcoming, laughing past the spoonful of ice cream in his mouth as Prompto swears and fails at platforming yet again. It’s easier in those moments to pretend the soft burst of affection in your chest is purely platonic, or to maybe sneakily give into pretending the ‘what if’ is a genuine possibility. 

But right now? Decked head to toe in this outfit you’ve seen a photo of once as he complained that Gladio was making him break it in, whatever that meant, it makee your mouth water even as the difference in your stature and your lives becomes all that more apparent. You tear your eyes away from the long column of his throat to look him in the eye, going weak at the knees when you witness the small scowl on his face. 

You clear your throat and wrinkle your nose, falling back into trading petty insults by reflex. “Noct, your outfit right now feels like the modern-day equivalent of a Victorian woman flashing her ankle. What’re you trying to do, get everybody hot and heavy over two inches of calf-muscle?”

Whatever reaction you’re expecting, it isn’t for a slow smile to spread across his face. “Is it working?”

_What._

You struggle to calm your pounding heart, praying he can’t hear it from across the room. “You might as well tell everyone ‘look at me! I’m the crown prince!’ in that outfit, dummy. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Without waiting for a reply, you flee the room, stopping only once you’re in your parents’ bedroom, hands braced against the closet door as you try to get the heart palpitations to stop. He has absolutely no right looking that good all the time, and saying things? Like that? It’s fun for you to _imagine_ toeing the line between friendship and something more, and sure, you’ll admit that you’ve daydreamed maybe once or twice (or a couple dozen times more than that) about being that something more, but you’ve never once acted on it. No matter how many times you thought about pressing just a little bit closer to his side, or pushing his hair back from his face, or letting your hand just a little bit longer on his arm, you’ve never followed through. He was a prince, for Six’s sake, and no matter what fond high school memories the two of you share, your paths are veering in too different directions to even entertain the possibility.

You rummage for a few moments through the clothing before you, but everything is built just a little to big for the prince patiently waiting in your room. You drag yourself back, sighing heavily as you look at him flopped onto your bed, high school yearbook in hand as he glances your way.

“No luck?”

“No,” you admit, ignoring how easily he sits up with a flex of his abdomen as you dig through your pajama drawer. “But I think I got— here we go.” You throw the fabric at his face, grinning when he smacks his chin.

“What…is this shirt?” he says slowly, unfolding it and staring at the faded Kenny Crow silk-screened on the front.

“Better than looking like a sad cosplay of yourself,” you say with a snort, tossing a pair of joggers at him as well. “These should fit.”

“Thanks.” He easily snatches them out of the air, that easy smile that makes your stomach flip on his face. “’Preciate it.” Without warning he stands and strips his shirt, arms pulling taut as you choke on your spit. Then he goes for his pants and you trip trying to scramble out of the room.

“Six, Noct, give me a warning next time!” you yelped as you shield your eyes, cringing at the warm laugh that bubbles up his throat as he shakes out his hair. You wait for him by the front door, twirling your keys nervously in your hand as you try to erase the peek of his leanly muscled torso out of your mind. 

“Good to go?” Without sparing him a second glance you jam a baseball cap on his head, ignoring his indignant ‘hey!’ as you flatten his perfectly coiffed hair. Revenge, you think smugly, for the near heart-attack he gave you earlier.

“Now you’re good. Where to, highness?” 

The smile he gives you warms your heart. “Got a couple places in mind.” 

You try not to read too much into it when his hand lingers at your lower back as he ushers you out the door.

“Come on, that’s not fair,” you huff, lowering the plastic gun as you glare at Noct, struggling not to return the grin you see tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not my fault you suck,” he retorts, easily blowing past the zombie bunnies on screen as the tip of his tongue pokes past his teeth in concentration.

“Not my fault you and Prompto literally _live_ here.” You shift back onto one foot all the time, idly wondering how much help Crownsguard training has been for his aim as he easily racks up points. The number at the corner of the screen keeps getting higher and higher, and you’d be mildly impressed if all the top scores weren’t filled with some variation of his and Prompto’s initials. 

“Fine.” He looses one more shot, quickly flicking the gun up to reload before knocking off a few more bucktoothed monsters. It shouldn’t make your heart flip the way he looks right now, but there’s something about his steady concentration and the easy stance of his body that does something to you. It also doesn’t hurt that the joggers fit just a little snugger on him than on you despite their loose size, and you can feel your eyes drifting down towards his— “What d’you wanna play next?” 

“That.” You turn and point, and by the time you look back at him, his face is flat.

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon—”

“No way.”

You pout as you walk backwards towards the game as he reluctantly follows, hoping he can see the reflection of the neon lights in your eyes. “Please? It’s the least you can do. Give me this one favour before I fail my exams next week because _someone_ insisted we hang out. Then when I’m kicked out of school and jobless I can at least look back on this fond memory and think about how _happy_ I was and how losing my degree and never getting employed and living off cold beans for the rest of my life is _worth_ it—”

He doesn’t answer, just pushes past you to shove quarters into the slot as you practically squeal with delight, flinging your arms around him, oblivious to the pink flush spreading across his nose.

“I knew you loved me,” you said cheerily, eagerly clambering on top of the dance pad, the boppy, electronic music already pouring from the screen as you bounce up and down experimentally on the arrows below your feet.

“’Course I do.”

You nearly stumble back into the metal bar as you whip your head around to look at him, but before you can ask him to elaborate further, a few high schoolers who clearly also decided education wasn’t in their best interests today snicker as they walk past, sneering,

“ _Pussy_.” 

Before you can shake a fist at them, Noct grabs your hand and jerks his head towards the screen. “You paying attention or what?” 

Your eyes flicker from your hands to the countdown on screen, mouth flapping open and closed uselessly.

He gives your fingers a squeeze and laughs a little under his breath before letting go and not even acting remotely fazed as if handholding was a regular occurrence in your friendship. “Guess you’re gonna lose then.”

You do lose. 

Horrifically.

You blame your inability to move properly on the sudden disconnect from your brain to the rest of your body, your hand still tingling from the way the pads of his fingers brushed against yours. You fumble through several songs as the screen loudly proclaims over and over again that any sense of rhythm, hell any equilibrium that might’ve existed in your body had flown off, poof, vanished to the wind. It doesn’t help that Noct seems infuriatingly pleased with himself the whole time, and you’re so caught up in both of these pieces of information clamouring for attention in your mind that you don’t even make fun of him once, not as he executes a perfect two-step, not when he pulls off the cap and puts it back on backwards, not even when he hits absolutely every single step to Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine.

He’s sweaty and you’re dazed as your scores flash on screen, him with an A and you with a dismal D. Noct pinches the front of your shirt and flaps it a few times, breathing a little heavier than normal as he lets out a breathless chuckle. “I even amaze myself sometimes.” 

Distantly, you know this is the point you give some sort of witty reply, but you’re pretty sure the half-assed dancing has just made your brain rattle around your skull instead of giving you time to sort out the weird firework burst that’s still lingering in your hand. You can feel him watching you though, one black brow arching as he waits, mouth pursing to probably ask you what’s wrong with you. Before you can even begin to formulate a response, he hisses, “Get down!” and crowds the two of you to the floor.

“There’s no point in hiding, highness.” Ignis’s voice floats over to the two of you, and you can hear the exasperation dripping from it. “We’re already well aware that you’re here.”

“C’mon, move,” Noct whispers, pressing his lips together as a wide smile nearly splits his face in two, struggling to keep his laughter under control.

“He’s by the door,” you hiss back, setting aside how close his face is to yours for the moment. You can see the different shades of blue of his eyes, their smoky colour accentuated by the thick lashes lining them. The faint smell of sweat clings to your nose as Noctis slowly shifts to peek between two arcade games, eyeing Ignis’s impatient figure in the arcade door. His neck is stretched out before you, and all you can do is dumbly stare the where the long line of it disappears beneath the soft, worn collar of your pajama shirt. 

“He’s gotta move sometime.” He looks down at you, and you guiltily snap your eyes away from the peek of his collarbone. “I think there’s a back door over there.” He gently turns you around and you obediently creep forward, your calves already starting to protest from crouching as you inch your way towards the exit sign. You garner a few strange looks, but thankfully Noctis has the presence of mind to put his hat back on the right way, ducking his head to avoid any extra attention.

“Noct, this is hardly behaviour becoming of a prince,” Ignis calls again.

“Yeah, let’s hurry it up, Charmless,” Gladio grunts somewhere to your right, and you feel a frisson of apprehension zing through you as you scramble forward, trying to keep as low to the ground as possible.

“Almost there,” Noct says, abandoning his whisper and pretense of subterfuge as he rises to a half-crouch, and grabs your hand yet again as he darts towards the back door. It slams open with a bang and a shriek of your laughter, whatever his friends are yelling behind you lost to your giggles and footsteps as he hurries you out the mouth of the alley and down the street.

“Noct! Wait!” you manage breathlessly, trying not to trip over your feet as he pulls you down the street then between two buildings. The alleyway rushes past the two of you in a blur of brick and concrete, then he slows and tugs you towards him, slipping around yet another corner before pulling you close.

“What—”

He silences you with a finger to your lips, warm puffs of air blowing across your face as you feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. You’re standing beside a dumpster and the smell of rancid food and waste is almost overpowering, but all of that is lost on you at the feel of Noctis’s body pressed so thoroughly against your own. He’s warm and a little sweaty, his hair sticking a little to his forehead. You can feel his breathing start to steady, and you’re waiting for him to push you away, but it never comes. Instead he wraps his arms around you more firmly, pulling you impossibly closer as he keeps his face turned towards the corner. It feels like an eternity of flirting with heaven and hell as you fight to keep your heartrate down and the all-encompassing thrill racing through your body at a minimum. You’re hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, but still you slowly draw your eyes up to the sharp angle of his jaw, the soft line of his lips curled up on boyish glee. The weight of his hands is heavy on you, and you subconsciously lick your lips as you shift your hips just a little against his, trying to quell whatever it is that’s burning in the pit of your stomach.

Noct looks down at you and you blink at him, unable to tear your gaze away as you watch his eyes bounce around your face. Almost as if in question, you tilt your chin up a little, lips parted and damp as—

The door slams open and the two of you start, staring blankly at a disgruntled man gaping back at you, trash bag in one hand, stained apron in the other. “Get a room!” he barks, and the two of you scramble apart, Noctis tugging the brim of his hat lower as you both mumble apologies before scampering off. It’s only when you’re a few streets away that you begin awkwardly swinging your hands by your sides, pulling in a breath between clenched teeth as you struggle for something to say.

“So…” 

Noct makes a noise of affirmation, hands tucked safely inside his pockets.

“Yeah?”

You stretch your arms out to the side, and shoot him a sheepish smile as your stomach growls, loudly. “Wanna get something to eat?”

His smile is easy, familiar, and you’re filled with relief. “You bet.” 

Street vendors are plentiful in Insomnia, and it’s not problem locating them. The real issue lies in trying to decide what to eat. You and Noctis have already spent a good twenty minutes wandering up and down past the multitude of stalls, stuffing free samples into your mouth at any given possibility. Realistically you feel like you could have a full meal off of them alone, but your conscience pricks at you to make a decision and make it soon. 

“No way, we’re not getting those.” Noctis’s arms are crossed yet again, and normally you’d be amused, but right now you’re starting to wonder how Ignis has the patience of a saint when it comes to the prince.

“Don’t be rude,” you mutter quietly, still brandishing the veggie skewer in front of his face. “They’re made the exact same way as—”

“They’re not the same,” he interrupts.

The vendor is looking back and forth between the two of you, probably debating how offended he should be as the grill before him hisses and spits, grease from the meat skewers popping in the air. “I can give ya some extra veggies for free,” he offers.

“That’d be great,” you say with a smile the same time Noctis says, “No thanks.”

You shoot him a poisonous glare and rummage for your wallet, but he lays a hand over yours and slaps money on the plexiglass counter. “I got it.” You go to thank him right as he tacks on, “but I’m not eating those.” He jerks his head towards the vegetables and you pinch his side, brushing past his indignant grumble as he glares at you.

“They’re good for you, you know.”

“So’s meat.” He swipes the skwers with a ‘thanks’, leaving you to shoot an apologetic look at the now amused vendor as you grab the abandoned vegetables and trot to catch up with him.

“At least try it before you decide you don’t like it.”

“I’m good.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’.

“Please, Noct?” You tug on the edge of his shirt and he stops, looking down at you giving him the biggest puppy eyes you can possibly manage as you pray to the Six this is enough to keep him from developing some form of vitamin deficiency, at least for the next week.

He sighs, eyeing you, then the skewer. “Seriously?”

“Just a bite.” You wave it under his nose and he huffs, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Fine.” Taking your hand in his, he lowers his mouth, and your heart nearly stops. The brim of the hat nearly skims your forehead, but you’re too distracted by the shape of his mouth as it parts, and he plucks the tomato off the top with his teeth, the soft pink of his tongue stark against the roasted red flesh. His nose wrinkles as he chews. You almost forget how to breathe when his hand lingers around yours, licking his lips clean of any lingering grease. 

“Well?” Your voice comes out scratchy and squeaky, and you nervously clear your throat. “What’d you think?”

“S’okay,” he says, quieter this time. “I’d give it another shot.” Before you can breathe his face is ducking down again, eyes trained on yours as he snags another vegetable, and then his face twists and he pulls back, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Nope, never mind.”

He starts in on his meat skewer as you stare at the half-bitten green pepper, struggling through your thoughts as you sputter uselessly. “At least finish it!”

“Pass,” he says as he starts in on skewer number two, eyes lighting up at the flickering French fry sign further down. “C’mon, let’s get some fries.” When you dig your feet into the ground, mutinously eating the savaged green pepper, he tugs at your elbow. “You’re the one that said they’re good for me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say half-heartedly as you trudge behind him, but you find yourself hard pressed to stay annoyed later he feeds you a few. 

The sun has started setting by the time you make it home, your steps a little slower and heavier as you struggle to move with all the food you’ve consumed today. You’re lazily licking at your ice cream cone, the final treat of the evening. The sweet burst of flavour is refreshing in contrast to the amount of salt and grease you’ve consumed today, and idly you wonder how pissed Ignis will be once he’s realized Noctis has not only ruined his dinner, but also managed to avoid eating (almost) any vegetables for yet another day. 

Noctis waits patiently as you unlock the door, and it’s only when you’re inside that you realize he’s not following. “You coming in?”

“Don’t you have to study?” He reflexively crosses his arms across his chest, shifting from foot to foot as he eyes you.

You hum, pretending to think about it as you look at your slowly melting ice cream. “I probably should…” you relish in the slight disappointment flickering across his face, “buuuut that can wait until tomorrow. You were right. I did need a break. So…thank you, I guess.” 

He smiles, boyish and handsome and you fight the urge to shut your eyes against such a stunning sight. “Nah, thanks for keepin’ me company.”

“Just come in, already,” you grumble, hiding in your ice cream as you step back.

“Noct!” A car door slams and Noctis winces, squashing the hat further onto his head.

“Oops,” he mutters, smile growing crooked. “Busted.” 

“This has gone on quite enough.” Past Noct’s shoulder you can see Ignis standing unimpressed beside the car, Gladio clambering out the passenger side.

“Train first, flirt later, highness,” he adds, the smirk clear in the low timbre of his voice. 

You fight back the wave of embarrassment threatening to drown you as you deliberately avoid their eyes. “Another time, then.” You pat his cheek affectionately, and his eyes soften.

“Yeah.”

“See ya, Noct—”

“Hang on a sec.” 

He thinks you look adorable like this, the wide, attentive way you look at him, the slight pursing of your lips, the way you tilt your head just a little bit to the side, waiting for whatever he has to say. And he just can’t help himself. He can see your eyes widen as he leans in, eyebrows drawing up and mouth falling open. He braces one hand on the doorframe and wraps another around yours then ducks his head, helping himself to a messy bite of your ice cream. The stinging protest his teeth give is worth the look on your face as he grins, swallowing and watching your eyes track the bob of his throat.

“Thanks.”

He turns and half-jogs to the car, a little bit of a spring in his step as he ignores the salacious smirk Gladio shoots him, leaving you open mouthed and gaping at his retreating back. He pauses at the street then turns back to you, almost as an afterthought, Kenny Crow’s face half-hidden behind the car door.

“See ya tomorrow,” he says with a grin and disappears inside as you hear Ignis’s indignant,

“Absolutely _not_.” 

They drive away and it’s only the steady trickle of ice cream down your hand that snaps you from your stupor as you nearly collapse to the ground, feeling like your entire body is on fire.

“What the fuck was that?!” 

Your phone chimes and you fumble for it with your clean hand, mind still running a mile a minute as you read,

[5:54 PM] **Noctis**  
sorry i took your shirt 

[5:55 PM] **Noctis**  
just borrow mine  
cya tomorrow 

[5:58 PM] **Noctis**  
leave your window open

Later you lie in bed, wrapped in a familiar (expensive smelling) black tee, and smile as you look up at the window, holding your hand up and letting the moonlight illuminate it.

Maybe playing hooky wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
